There’s a passage in one of my unpublished short stories (which is currently on submission#12, but I’m still holding out hope for it) about radio static –

Static sounds the way I imagine the universe would sound if you could listen to it. A billion tiny voices all crying out for attention, but each one has dwindled to a whisper. The distant hiss of life across light years, every one craving the recognition of the other. None of them hears. It’s the loneliest sound.

And then earlier this year I wrote an Edinburgh-set horror piece called ‘Listen to the Static’, a 6000 word short story, but it’s a structurally impaired patient in need of serious rearranging. Anyway, all of this leads me to discussing an exciting new project. Borrowing the title of that short story, and some of the themes of that paragraph from my oft-rejected short story I have a new idea for a novel, which is currently usurping The Drover as prime contender for being written.

It’s nice to be excited about a big idea that has huge scope beyond being just a short story. Tonight my main character has a name, as do at least two other characters. And I’m already forming the voice in my head. In fact, I even wrote some actual words tonight to test out the voice and what I intended to be a short sentence or two became 100 words in a heartbeat. Dare I pin down the genre? If I say the words Paranormal Fantasy then my gut churns. I hate pinning the genre-tail on the story-donkey. I could simply call it horror. It has ghosts, and I fully intend to contribute to your nightmares as far as possible. Lets just call it words for the moment, and even make the bold step of starting a regular progress report, including word count and related stuff.

12.30 in the afternoon. Lunchtime. Soot-black clouds shroud the castle. Must write more about this incredible city. Over a year since last Edinburgh story published. Encroaching storms remind me of it. Click on the picture below.

Another overcast Sunday afternoon, with the sky the colour of dissolved aspirin and I’m counting the snowdrops in the garden from my bay window. Eight, and one stunted-looking one. I’d thought about giving them names, but will only be sad when they inevitably shrivel up and wilt.

There are a number of light, impermanent things occurring today – along with the snowdrops, the daylight will fade in about three hours time; the honey and sunflower bread baking in the kitchen, will undoubtedly disappear before the end of the day; my cat’s attention span as he focuses with killer instinct on the garden birds flitting about in the drizzle, and then becomes more concerned with cleaning his tail.

It’s the nature of things, I suppose, and it’s hard not to imbue the scene with a sense of melancholy, but all things fade, and then new things come along and replace them. Ho Hum. And after I’ve tapped out this mini-improvisation on the impermanence of life and I have to concentrate on critiquing a friend’s short story and then revise ‘Great Junction Street‘ for the final time and begin the investigation where to submit a grim urban horror story full of coarse Edinburgh dialect.

I need to learn to blow my own trumpet more often – in fact I once wanted to learn the trumpet, aged 12, but that’s a whole other story of disappointment and the cruelty of the education system.

This post is inspired by Claire Humphrey‘s recent blog post and her saying “Sometimes it surprises me when I get a reminder that people are actually reading me.” She very kindly mentioned ‘Saint Stephen Street‘ again in reference to Rich Horton’s annual summaries of Speculative Fiction zines and anthologies.

Twelve days ago he did his summary of Ideomancer and mentioned ‘Saint Stephen Street‘ as one of his favourites of the year. As Claire said – “There you have it: proof positive that I exist! I am not just whispering into a soup can attached to a long string stretching away down a very dark alley!”

I couldn’t agree more! I used to hear the vague oxymoron ‘A monkey squawking in the dark’ in reference to your voice being invisible to the wider population – (I can’t remember if I came up with that phrase or it belongs to someone else, but whatever, monkeys don’t really squawk…)

What more does a writer want as validation that people are reading what they write, and not just a tiny handful of friends and family, but an audience who reads and then actually returns with an opinion? That little story of mine seems to have struck a chord with a lot of people, and it makes me so happy to come across such things.

A writing update, to check in and remind my poor neglected blog that I still love it, after it whimpering in the corner for the last few weeks for food.

October saw a new Edinburgh Street Story written – ‘Arboretum Avenue‘ – at about 7000 words, and I’m happy enough with it for a first draft. I’ve fallen behind a bit with the task of revising and submitting short stories. Revision is a painful, difficult and at times, dull job, but it is the most important part of writing, otherwise everything would just sit in a half-made state – a folder of perpetual first drafts.

In terms of submissions, I have two out currently, both at about the 50 day mark – one potentially quite exciting, the other likely to be a good while longer yet. I have possible news of a sale, but can’t confirm or deny anything until various bits are in place…

Current work in progress is another short story – tentative title – ‘Unpicking the Stitches’ – hopefully to be about 3K. And then more revision…

Recent reads have been ‘The Year of the Flood‘ by Margaret Atwood, which I enjoyed immensely, and magazines Black Static 18 and 19, both superb as always.

My short story, Saint Stephen Street is now available to read online at the wonderful Ideomancer, with it’s gorgeous new website, in their current issue – Vol.9 Issue 2. It’s a story of fading memories, a dusty apocalypse, and the fragility of friendships. You can read it here – Saint Stephen Street.

Very pleased to see this one published. The first of the Edinburgh Street Tales, and hopefully the first of many.

Inicidentally, I had dinner on Saint Stephen Street last night, in a new-ish restaurant called ‘The Saint‘, on the trendy, non-windy bit of the street. All I’ll say is, their chocolate spring rolls with white chocolate and raspberry sauce are a tiny little miracle that will make your eyes pop out.

Just received word that Saint Stephen Street, will be published in a future issue of the wonderful online zine Ideomancer. With some award-winning writers involved in the running of it – e.g. Leah Bobet, Elizabeth Bear – I am thrilled to bits to sell this story there.